When I bought my first home at 29, I expected some challenges—leaky pipes maybe, or figuring out trash day—not a neighbor trying to charge me for a lawn I didn’t ask to be mowed. It happened about three weeks after I moved in. I pulled into the driveway and heard a lawnmower running. Curious, I rounded the corner and saw a teen—Tyler—halfway through mowing my front yard. I waved him down. “Hey, I live here. Did I miss something?” “I’m Tyler,” he said, a little out of breath. “I mow lawns for cash. My mom said you’d probably want it done. Usually people pay $50.” I blinked. “Fifty?!
” He shrugged. “She says that’s what it’s worth. I’d take ten…” I explained gently that I hadn’t asked anyone to mow my lawn and wouldn’t pay for something I never agreed to. He looked crushed and left quietly. The next morning, his mom, Julie, showed up on my porch, furious. She accused me of taking advantage of her son and insisted I owed him $50. I told her again—I never hired him,
